Chills
by leenza
Summary: Claire realizes she really doesn't have much of a choice.


**Chills**

He's moving over her in a manner that suggests he's done this sort of thing before. It should bother her so much more than it does; she finds it doesn't really matter.

His hands are everywhere at once; it's dizzying how quickly he manages to unbutton her shirt and press her against him, fingers running through her hair, digging into her ribs, sliding across her. His shirt is off, too, and everything is just moving so _fast_. Was this really what it was supposed to be like?

"Claire," he murmurs, jolting her out of her distracted thoughts. She blinks and meets his gaze. "You're thinking too much."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, a line forming between her eyebrows.

"Don't be sorry, just relax." He kisses her gently, smiling against her lips as she struggles to do as he said.

She shifts, uncomfortable, and a low moan escapes him, his kisses becoming more urgent and his breathing becoming heavier. His lips become more exploratory, grazing along her jaw and down to her neck, and she receives the startling impression that he's panting, leaning over her and panting like a _dog_ and suddenly it's wrong, all of it, and aren't his lips a little too cold when they make contact with her skin, his hands not warm enough where they slide across her stomach, his entire aura too goddamn lacking in heat for her needs?

A brief glance at her arm displays the astonishing array of goose bumps that lined her skin, but not the good goose bumps, not the kind she gets on the hottest days of the summer when Quil turns one of those intense, searching gazes on her.

And just like that, she is shivering uncontrollably and Quil is in her mind and he won't leave, he's there in the room, watching her, and all she can think of is the betrayed expression that crossed his face when she told him her plans for the night.

_"Quil," she had said, tugging his attention back to her, "the next time you see me, I'll be a _woman_."_

_He had raised his eyebrows, perplexed, one hand resting lightly on her open car window._

_"Tonight's the night," she had explained, laughing nervously. "You know, with Jared."_

_"What?" Quil had demanded, and his hand on the door had clenched, his fingers whitening. _

_"I'm all grown up, Quil," she had replied, shrugging. "You hadn't noticed?"_

_"What I _noticed_," Quil practically growled, his expression as dark as she'd ever seen it, "is that you are not even eighteen years old, Claire, and this…Jared…he's…he's not good enough for you!"_

_"He's plenty good enough," she had protested, indignant. "_He's_ never told me 'no.'"_

_There had been a pause. When Quil spoke, his voice was more controlled. "Is this what this boyfriend business has been about, then? I never said 'no,' Claire. I said 'not yet.' There's a difference."_

_"All I heard was 'never.'"_

_She had looked up to meet his gaze and the agony in his eyes had nearly changed her mind. _

_"Is this…is this really what you want?"_

_She had blinked, not missing his point that at all times, she had a choice. A hard lump blocked any chance words had at navigating her throat and she had simply nodded slightly. _

_"Okay. Okay. Have a good night, then," he had said, his tone stiff, his eyes blank, his shoulders tense as he walked away. She hadn't been able to help watching, wanting to do nothing more than erase the pain she'd caused. When she had finally driven away, she had left a part of herself behind._

Jared's hands pause on the zipper of her jeans.

"Claire?" he asks, sounding horrified. "Are you crying?"

She reaches up to her face and feels the moisture, surprised, realizing how blurry the scene in front of her has become, and the discovery cracks open a dam and she sobs hysterically. "I can't…I can't do this…you're not….I can't…."

Somehow, she finds her shoes, the tears showing no sign of stopping, Jared showing no sign of stopping _her_, and she flees, barefoot, sandals in hand, the flaps of her still unbuttoned shirt flying out behind her.

She barely remembers to put the car in park before she throws her door open, sprinting across the yard and up the porch steps, barreling through the front door that has never been locked.

"Claire, what-"

Embry calls to her from the kitchen, but she's down the hallway and up the stairs before he finishes. She pauses at the doorway into Quil's room, struggling to catch her breath, to regain her composure.

Quil perches on the end of his bed, his head in his hands, defeated.

"Quil," she breathes, and when he looks up, shocked, she launches herself across the room, throwing herself into his arms, his big, strong arms that wrap instinctively around her.

He holds her, cradling her, in the quiet, patient way that only Quil can as he waits for her sobs to ease, gently brushing away some of her tears. As she calms, she realizes one of his hands is drawing tender, tingling circles across her skin where her pathetic, undone shirt has failed to cover her. She shivers, but curls up closer to him, trying to understand why she had craved sexual heat when she had Quil's warmth right here.

"What are you doing showing up to my room half-dressed this late at night, Bear?" he asks, his tone teasing, but she detects faint traces of burning curiosity.

When she looks up, surprised at how close their faces were, she stares into his eyes, trying not to feel slighted by the guarded look that she had helped put there.

"I couldn't do it," she whispers, trembling as she tries not to start crying again. "He wasn't you, I couldn't do it."

Quil's hold on her tightens, but the tension leaves his body, the defeated look exits his eyes. "I don't think you could ever grasp the anxiety, the _pain_ I felt, picturing you with him, wanting him…"

"I didn't," she protests. "_Quil_."

He waits, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Quil," she says again, pressing her fingers against his cheek. He reaches up and takes them, entwining them with his own and squeezing gently.

"You've been so adamant that I lead a normal life, that I make my own choices, that I…" – here, she blushes – "grow up, that you never stopped to realize that I don't get a choice, either. Not when it comes to you."

Quil kisses her then, his lips fierce and hot, until she seems convinced that she'll never be cold again.

**My first attempts at Twilight fanfiction. Forgive me if I seem a little rusty. **

**Disclaimer – nothing is mine, of course. **

**love, linza**


End file.
